Feel For Our Way Back
by Haurvatat
Summary: The Winchester boys are free from the Academy at long last, but that doesn't mean they're free of the Alliance - especially when luck-killers like the Tam siblings accidentally cross their paths. That is, if such a meeting of the tortured psychics can ever be coincidence. Firefly-verse. Unabashed cursing, mostly in Chinese. Dialect. We'll see what I feel like doing for pairings.
1. Chapter 1

_He's staring up into Dean's eyes, trying to figure out what noise is coming out of his brother's mouth. He knows Dean's speaking, because he can see his mouth move and his throat work, but all he can hear is this muddied, bubbling mass of noise that is pointless to try to understand. He opts for trying to lip-read instead, which is total bust because he can only make out his own name. He can't understand anything._

_ Except one thing._

_Dean's here. Dean's here to take him home._

_He buries his face in the crook of Dean's neck, wraps his arms around his brother like he's all that's tying Sam to this world (which is not necessarily untrue). When his brother's arms wrap around him just as tightly, after all this time, he's finally home._

* * *

"It can't be helped," Mal muttered, trying to keep how cross he was from the others. He had to look like he was in control of the situation. "We're taking on passengers in Delma."

Simon raised fingers into the air, a mockery of asking permission to speak. "Unsure if you've forgotten, Captain, but asking strangers to share the same living space with us and miraculously not notice that River and I are fugitives is a little… hopeful."

"If by 'hopeful' you mean 'suicidal', I'm inclined to agree," said Wash.

"Did I give impressions that this was a debate?" Mal asked. "We're short on cash. We're not going to have enough to stay flying and maintain our healthy waistlines 'f we go much further like this. Doctor, your face isn't mightily recognisable, so you're free to wander even with unfamiliar folk about. Your sister… well, she stays put these days, so lying low shouldn't be too much of a chore."

"You're talking about locking her u-"

"I'll buy her some nice books to keep her busy in a way that is neither crazy nor damaging to my wallet, Doctor. End of discussion," Mal said firmly. "Something science-y, I'm thinking."

The crew filed out of the cockpit, save for Zoe and Wash, still manning his post like the dedicated pilot he was.

Jayne just had to have the last word, though, and stuck his head back in. "If we end up with more ruttin' government fugitives, I get to sell 'em this time, right?"

"Get yourself and your bile gone, Jayne," Zoe said.

"I'm just sayin'-"

"Gone."

"Okay, okay!" The clunking of his enormous combat boots steadily withdrawing was proof enough that he'd obeyed for once.

Zoe sighed. "That's not gonna be the end of this, Captain. Either from the Doctor or Jayne."

"Why are we worrying about our own house? Does no-one remember what happened last time we let crazy random people into Serenity? Because I remember shooting and yelling and naked government-tortured/insane fugitives that ended up becoming the norm after that incident. Has that slipped anyone's mind?" Wash said. "I also remember something about needing to unload stolen cargo on Whitefall with civilians _and_ an Alliance mole on board – because that idea was some _shiong-mao niao_ and you know it."

"I didn't say it was smart; I said it was necessary," Mal said. He knew damn well his words wouldn't leave the room, and it was the only reason he felt comfortable saying them at all. "I don't fancy the notion any more than you do, but this close to the inner planets, the only proper crime to be had is complicated and time-consuming, and we've not got the resources for that. Honest money can pay for fuel just as well as the dishonest kind, I'm sure. Nothing for it."

"Can't say I can argue too much with that, sir," Zoe said.

"I was unaware you were fixing to."

"And there's no kind of smuggling we can get up to? I remember something about smuggling beagles-?" Wash said.

Mal was already shaking his head. "Looked. Nothing even remotely underhanded or dishonest happening in the area while we're planning on being docked." He shuddered. "What an awful place to live. Can never understand how they do it."

Zoe cracked a smile at that. "Perhaps you can ask that of our passengers, sir."

"Still think we're all going to die this time," Wash called out as they left. He was promptly ignored, but then, he was used to it.

* * *

_He wakes up and Dean is there again, hasn't gone away, is here to stay. He didn't dream him._

_Dean leans over him and when he starts talking, and this time, Sam can make out the words._

"_Hey, Sammy. You're okay. You're going to be okay now. I've got you. We're out. We're never going back." Sam is shaking his head and Dean stops, expression confused._

"_Never free," Sam whispers to clarify. He hasn't spoken aloud in months. "Coming for us. 'Two by two; hands of blue; coming in the dark for you.'" The poem makes Dean's face tighten with worry, but Sam can't help it. The words come out and there's nothing he can do to stop them. He doesn't want Dean to worry, but experience tells him Dean is going to worry one way or another. He may as well be worried about the right thing._

"_We're out, though. And we're together. That's got to count for something, right?" Dean asks._

_Sam pauses, then shakes his head. Dean's face falls even further. "Not something," Sam says. "Everything."_

_And the joy that spreads over Dean's face makes all the pain worth it._

* * *

"River?" Simon called out softly. If she was asleep, he was hardly going to wake her. He could remember what a pissy wildcat she used to be if anyone woke her too early on a Saturday morning. He wasn't convinced that he didn't have a dent in the back of his head in remembrance of all the thrown objects.

River had open a colouring book on the floor, experimenting with light playing off surfaces. She only had about five coloured pencils, but somehow produced incredible pictures regardless. It was almost annoying how talented she was. She set down the teal pencil and levelled her gaze at her brother as best she could from lying on her stomach on the floor.

Simon sighed as he flopped down beside her. "Our Captain says we'll be having outsiders on the ship for a little while. He didn't say how long they would be here, but… you'll have to stay in here. We can't risk someone recognising you."

River simply blinked at him slowly. "Passengers." It wasn't a question.

"Yes." He shifted uncomfortably. "Listen, River. If you don't want to stay cooped up in here alone, I can stay with you. The whole time. I won't go out if you don't get to come with me."

She grinned up at him. "Nope. We'd kill each other by the end of it." Simon couldn't help cracking a smile at that. It was probably true.

"But you're okay with staying here while there are strangers wandering around?"

"New is good. Change of pace. Kaylee will bring me stories. New thoughts. New feelings. New histories bleeding into the ship." She smiled softly. "And she will grow with it. Get more beautiful, until she turns into a real person and starts talking back in tongues when it's asked of her. Serenity wants new friends. Can't begrudge her that."

"And you're not going to go crazy being cooped up in here?" Simon asked.

River just gave him a Look until he realised his less-than-amazing word choice.

"You know what I mean."

"Can deal with small spaces. Might get bored, though. No guarantees of the safety of stuff you leave in here. May decide to do experiments with your med kit if it gets bad enough."

Simon blanched and made a mental note to hide his med kit where River couldn't get to it – if indeed such a place existed. "The Captain promised to get you some books to entertain you. He was thinking of the scientific variety."

"Boring. I know them all. Old thoughts. Beaten to death. Thought them all before. Nothing new. I need something fresh and impossible. Fairy tales, please. Make sure there are dragons."

"I'll see what I can do about passing the word along," Simon said. "But right now, you're due for another shot."

"Sick of pinching."

"I know. I'm sorry. It's just until we can figure out a better way for you to get your medication."

"Could invent teleportation straight into my veins."

"Could you really?" Simon clearly thought she was full of it and was amused by the concept, which River took as a challenge more than anything else.

"Maybe. Needs further testing."

"Sounds like you've got a prototype."

"Teleported a biscuit. Meant it to go two metres. Ended up in Jayne's pants."

Simon levelled a suspicious look at her as he readied the syringe. "You're making all of this up."

"Doesn't mean it's not a good story."

River clenched her teeth almost imperceptibly as the air-compressed drug forced itself into her veins at speed.

"Lay down. Take a nap. I'll wake you up for dinner," Simon said, gathering up her colouring books and pencils, putting them in River's bag.

"Don't forget my dragons," she called imperiously after him as he left. Only after hearing his affirmative chuckles did she allow herself to drop off to sleep.

* * *

(A/N): Yes, I know I'm already working on, like, five other fics. I DO WHAT I WANT. Plus, this has been rattling around my brain for forever and a day. See if you can figure out what's going on before I hand it to you in a proper flashback.


	2. Chapter 2

This really was a cool idea. I can't seem to leave it alone in my head. There's a scene that I've been constructing for ages, and for the first time, I'm not having trouble psyching myself up to writing the exposition that has to happen before my brain baby scene can happen. Miracles do exist.

**CHAPTER TWO**

"_Dad?"_

_John looks up and the room stills as Sam pokes his head in through the doorway. Sam hates how nobody trusts him in the least, but he can get over it. He's 17 and a big boy, for God's sake, so he can put on his big girl panties and get over it._

"_What do you need?" John asks as he gets up to herd Sam away from any of the important-people talk. Sam fucking hates that._

_He doesn't know how to say it in a way that's not going to get him in trouble. He can try taking the long way around it, but he knows how his Dad feels about it when he pulls crap like that. No time for beating around the bush. "Got some communication from Stanford today. On Persephone. They're offering me a full ride."_

_John stops dead, his face stony. "Persephone is a core planet," he says like that somehow escaped Sam's attention along the way._

"_I know tha-"_

"_Then why are we still discussing this?"_

"_Dad, I've wanted to go there since forever. Just because you and the Alliance are intent on scalping each other-"_

"_Is that what you think this war is, boy?"_

"_It's your war to fight. You helped start it, and it's something you want to fight for, and I've no quarrel with that. But you can't tell me where to die and what cause to die for. It doesn't work like that, Dad."_

"_You cannot seriously be thinking about selling your life to Alliance pigs! That's what's going to happen if you get… schooling… in a core planet." He says the word 'schooling' like it's some nasty rodent that's gotten into the food stores._

"_If I don't let you control me, what makes you think the Alliance can manage it? Dad, I don't like the Alliance any more than you do, and I'm never planning on getting buddy-buddy with the bastards. If that's what you're worried about-"_

"_They'll own you."_

"_They won't."_

"_You can't know that for sure."_

"_Right back at you."_

"_You're going to get us all killed."_

"_I thought your war was going to take care of that all on its own," Sam says, knowing he's gone a bit far with that one but not caring. His father is intent on destroying his son's future. He has to know that Sam isn't going to lie down and take it like Dean did._

_John's face closes off entirely. He's silent for a while. At last he speaks. "You leave now? Don't bother coming back. Ever."_

"_Just as well. If I stayed, I'd be owned by you every bit you seem to think the Alliance is going to try to own me. Funny how free will means so little to you." He doesn't bother looking back at his father and goes to grab his things. He's already packed, on the slim chance his father gave permission, and on the bigger chance that something like this would happen._

_He's angry. So angry. His father expected Sam to fight and die for a cause that isn't his own. John expects Sam to follow along, be a Browncoat. Sam agrees with their ideals, but he's wanted a good future in the core for longer than he can remember. The whole point of being a Browncoat was the part where you were free to make your own decisions, live your own life without being forced to follow around an uncaring, corrupt government for handouts. John doesn't understand that he's treating his children exactly the same way the Alliance treats its citizens. It makes Sam sick to his stomach. Sam's allowed to have free will. He can understand if John was worried about his son's safety, what with his father being one of the key top members of the Browncoat movement. But John never cited that as a reason. John never breathed a word about that. It's like he really doesn't care. Not about Dean. Not about Sam. Just about his stupid fucking war that's going to cost him and his eldest son their lives. Sam thinks about Dean, how he's leaving his brother for what is probably forever, and cries silently as he makes his way out the door to catch his shuttle for Persephone._

* * *

"Sammy? Time to wake up now."

"Ngh?" Sam tried in earnest to pull the blanket over his head. He didn't really expect it to hide the entirety of him (he was enormous by anyone's standards), but there was something childishly comforting about the whole I-can't-see-you-so-you-can't-see-me mentality.

"Not gonna work on me, Sammy. Besides, your hair was poking out. We might need to have a talk about your hair soon. You're turning into a regular Rapunzel with sideburns."

Sam couldn't help the sleepy giggle that escaped him as he let the blanket fall. Dean ruffled the aforementioned Rapunzel hair and kissed his little brother on the forehead. "First one to the kitchen gets to eat the other guy's bacon," he whispered. Sam was up and sprinting for the kitchen at a pace that would have dizzied an Olympian.

Dean was close behind. "Not today," he mock-growled, elbowing Sam away from his plate and towards his own. Sam just grinned in response, falling into the chair and subsequently his breakfast.

Sam hadn't uttered a word in two years, ever since Dean had gotten him out.

"Hey, uh…" Dean said. "We've gotten a whiff of… well, I think it might be best if we packed up our shit and got on the move."

Code for Alliance moles poking where they weren't wanted. Dean thought that outright mention of them might spook Sam. That, or he had no desire to speak of the Devil. Probably a mix of both, knowing Dean.

"Is that okay with you?"

Sam nodded, looking his brother in the eye so Dean knew he meant it. He refocused his attention to his toast.

Dean tried to concentrate on his own food. He knew Sam was never going to say anything ever again, for whatever reasons, but he couldn't help prodding occasionally. He still got to hear his brother's voice when little noises would escape him, but they couldn't have proper conversations any-more. Most of the time, Dean could read his brother well enough to make up for the lack of words, but… he missed it. He missed Sam's long-winded ridiculous rants and speeches about shit that didn't matter. He missed the jokes tossed over a shoulder. He missed just hearing the kid's voice. He'd spent years when Sammy was a kid just wishing the little bastard would shut up (because he never did, really), and now the opposite situation was true. The irony sucked.

"I already checked and it's looking like there aren't any shuttles of folk we know going out. We're going to have to hitch a ride with strangers. I'm sorry, Sammy."

Sam shook his head, clearly meaning, 'It's not your fault, Dean. Not an issue.'

"I found a listing I think might work. I've heard the captain's one of us. Browncoat. Does some smuggling, so he's still not a fan of… y'know."

Sam nodded.

"I've never met him, but he seems like somebody we can trust just to get us from point A to point B. We don't have to tell him anything," Dean said. "Malcolm Reynolds. Ever heard of him?"

Sam shook his head no.

"Huh. I could swear you memorised the rosters at one point in time."

Sam wiggled a flattened palm in the air ('sort of'), wiggled fingers around his temple (which could mean anything from 'my memory's a little spotty' to 'the needles they stuck in my brain might have fucked with my ability to dredge up that memory'), then made a horizontal circle, bringing his thumbs around and together (indicating a passage of time). All together, it went something like, 'I sort of memorised them, but it's been a while and my memory isn't faring so well these days.'

It had taken forever for Dean to learn all the little nuances of Sam's sign language. Most of the signs had about ten different meanings, although if he chained multiple signs together, you could usually piece out the overall meaning. At least Sam didn't have to carry around a dry-erase board anymore.

"Heard his first mate is also one of ours. A Zoe Washburne."

A furrowed brow and one finger from Sam.

"You remember her?"

The pointer finger meeting up mid-air with the thumb from his other finger. "Just the first name. Well, maybe she got married or something." Sam nodded along. Life went on, even after the war. "So you're cool with hauling our crap out of here soon? Ship's supposed to be docking around 4 today." A nod. "Awesome. I won't make you carry any of the heavy crap, promise." An eye-roll. "Well, what else am I here for?" A shit-eating grin and the pointed waving of a strip of bacon in the air. "I see how it is, smartass. Quit playing with your food and get packing."

* * *

(A/N): I know. I know. Work on ANY other fic. I know. It's just... I really, REALLY like this concept. I've had a crappy day and I just needed to unwind and write Winchester angst and then slap it away with fluff. It's therapeutic. Also... if you've been on tumblr in the last... week, I'm gonna say, VOTE FOR DESTIEL. YOU KNOW WHY. You can vote every hour and I encourage you to do so, if you can. I don't even ship Destiel that much (yeah, they're cute, and practically canon, but you should understand - the ship chooses the fangirl, Mister Potter), but I want the Supernatural fandom to win. Like, really bad.

Been watching Castle a lot. I swear, it's like the directors took Nathan Fillion and asked him to play Nathan Fillion. He's just the most majestic fucking creature.

My apologies that these are, in general, shorter chapters than I do for pretty much anything else I've written in the last two years or so. Like I said - I do this to unwind, so I try not to stress at all over how long or short these chapters are.

My thanks to everyone who reviewed! Your feedback is appreciated like you have no idea.


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